Redemption
by DementorsDaughter
Summary: Dumbledore should have thought better about that night; when he made Harry's life hell. He should have thought not to infuriate a certain Potions Master. For the old man will sorely regret the day that he appointed himself the "ruler" of the Light; and to abandon one in such dire need of help as that of Harry Potter. Severus will mend the ties that are broken.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter fandom, all of it goes to J.K Rowling, I just own the contents of this fanfiction. This is my first upload; I'm open to any and all comments! Enjoy guys! -DD

Update from 24/11/2017: Hey guys, I'm really sorry to those that have been following and have read the previous editions of this chapter, I promise I am perfectly happy with it now, won't be changing it again, but instead will carry on with production as normal. All I can say is I hope you still love the story, and most of all, Mischief Managed! - DD

Synopsis: Dumbledore should have thought better about that night; when he made Harry's life hell. He should have thought not to infuriate a certain Potions Master. For the old man will sorely regret the day that he appointed himself the "ruler" of the Light; and to abandon one in such dire need of help as that of Harry Potter. Severus will mend the ties that are broken within the 'Boy-Who-Lived', and with the help of the Malfoy's, success may be possible.

Chapter 1: Prologue

The eleven year old Harry was huddled in the dark. The spider infested dingy corner of his cupboard because he had been bad again. His Uncle had said so and he hadn't understood what he had done to annoy him so much. He had cooked, cleaned, washed his relative's clothes, ironed them and he had done the weeding in the garden as well. That was all before noon.

He had been sent into his cupboard; his Uncle purple in the face and the veins pulsing in his temple. His small frame shook violently in fear as he remembered the feel of a large hand as it connected sharply with his cheek; the knuckles and the ring cutting into his skin. The pain didn't bother him, it was more the feel of the skin breaking and the blood as it began to well up from gash on his forehead. Since then it had changed somewhat. Leaving a partly healed milky scar behind, the result from him being able to sneak Aunt Petunia's medical supplies into the bathroom previously. There was still a visible line of skin that was taut and shiny that was left behind, Harry knew that it would never completely fade.

He remembered Dudley being there also. The fat blond boy had stood and screamed his delights at watching his father abuse who he had come to fear immensely; Harry. Harry himself couldn't comprehend why he was being treated this way. He was ordinary enough to fit into his relative's lives; into their perfect flowerbeds, pristine kitchen. He was small, quiet and easily unnoticeable when he wanted to be, so why did his relatives treat him with such disdain?

"Up! Get up, now Potter!"

Harry swam to consciousness, only to hear the shrill tones of his Aunt Petunia as she screeched at him.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia" Harry mumbled.

Scurrying from his position in his cot, which had been unceremoniously dumped upon the Dursley's doorstep as nothing more than a scant afterthought in his cupboard by Vernon's sister, his Aunt Marge as "You don't need the authorities asking questions if ever they were to come here after the brat", Harry rushed to do as asked of him.

"Get the bacon cooking before Vernon comes down, I want everything perfect for his special day. You will not ruin a thing; do you hear me, Boy?" His Aunt hissed at him.

"Yes, of course, Aunt Petunia." Harry muttered, anxious to escape the woman's poisonous glare.

Harry did as his Aunt had requested. Rushing towards the kitchen he quickly grabbed the frying pan from the rack above the stove and placed it on the hob carefully before getting the bacon out the fridge. He reached for the oil which was next to the chopping board, and drizzled some into the pan before lighting the stove. He then carefully arranged the rashers into the cooking utensil. He could feel his Aunt's gaze upon him, scrutinising his every move.

"Am I missing something, Aunt Petunia? Should I do eggs too?" Harry addressed his Aunt with caution, as she was often in a snippy mood. At least she was where he was concerned.

"No, just make sure you don't burn that bacon or I'll have you washing the entire household's clothes for the rest of the summer, Boy!" His Aunt glared at him, leaning down to criticize his cooking. As Harry moved from the stove with the hot pan, intending to set the pan down on the heatproof mat next to the stove, he failed to notice his Aunt still hadn't moved from her previous position, leant down, and his body failed to comply with the requests of his brain to step over his Aunt's feet. Instead, his body ended up tripping over his Aunt's; the frying pan and the bacon landing on the floor with a splattering clatter that resonated through the suddenly deafening silence in the room.

"Look what you did you stupid brat! How could you be so careless you clumsy, idiotic beast of a human! Vernon's bacon is ruined because of you, you utter disgrace!" Petunia grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck before leaning him back, and striking him suddenly across the face, her bone like fingers akin to that of the snap of a bullwhip when the touch reached him. Harry flinched, however, muffling the cry of pain that wanted to emerge from him. He knew better than to alert his Uncle of such mistakes by now, if the sound of the pan clattering to the floor hadn't already accomplished this.

Unnatural things took place around Harry; unexplainable, extraordinary events. After he felt the stings from his Aunt's slap spread through him, the shock had resided, all he found that was left was a faint pain and an almost frightening amount of anger. A whisper faintly floated through his mind – gone in a heartbeat. It caressed his mind with the smoothest of touches.

Cold green eyes looked down at skeletal hands that held him, now startlingly similar to his own; he glared up at the woman who gripped the front of him so tightly, his countenance akin to the personification of black ice; promising that of danger but only once encountered and not a second before. He was lethal. The youth caught a glimpse of himself; his wiry slender frame was reflected in the glass inlaid into the cupboard door. He noted that Harry's once unruly hair was now sleek, shoulder length with appropriate bangs, and midnight black contrasting slightly to that of the dark brown tones of Harry's hair. _Marvolo_ was awake. The boy smirked, looked directly at Harry's relative, who was now backed into the corner of the kitchen, cowering in fright, whimpering and murmuring at the look of death that she found in the boy's eyes.

"P..Please..B- Harry, please..Don't do this. I am sorry for hitting you, please.."

Marvolo glanced with disdain at the pathetic Muggle before him, wondering how she dare lay a finger on Harry in the first place.

"Muggle you do not deserve my sympathy and therefore you shall receive none. You struck Harry and having gained previous knowledge in this area, this incident is not the first. Instead it is one of many, something that has become a routine for the poor boy, whom you treat as lowly as a mule. It is time for you to pay, I have witnessed Harry's suffering for long enough..."

" _Incendio"_

Marvolo let the words fly from his lips, the spells effects immediate. Flames surged outwards from where Marvolo was; racing towards the pitiful human that was lying on the floor. What had she ever done aside from treat Harry with abhorrence? She had stood by and let Vernon do as he would, a slap here and a kick there for little things such as leaving the tea towel unfolded or forgetting to preheat the oven. She would regret all of this, as Marvolo had observed it all, doing nothing, biding his time until now. As for Vernon, when the fat walrus of a man came downstairs, Marvolo would see that the two people who hurt Harry ended up unable to hurt anyone ever again.

Harry became aware of where he was; standing in the middle of what was once his Aunt's kitchen. Now, it was in ruin.

He swiftly became aware of his Uncle thundering down the stairs, and his Aunt groggily coming round from where she was.

From a young age all he could recall from his 'family' was abuse. His Uncle had greeted him with a customary clip of the ear every morning. Harry now had the addition of a shove into the wall from Dudley, with a comment of how he had destroyed the kitchen with his freakishness. Harry had abruptly woken up from his sleepy stupor after being struck on the back of his head. So sharp had it been that it felt as if his eyes had rattled in their sockets at one point.

Harry shifted slightly from the cramped position he was in and stretched his slender frame as much as he was able due to the restrictions of his sleeping place. Looking back on the events of the last few hours, which Harry only had a vague, somewhat cloudy recollection of,he could recall a strange feeling welling up inside him when Dudley had laughed at him; similar to that of the feeling of vertigo but it was more of a tugging sensation that felt as though it was expanding from his very soul. He had closed his eyes briefly and a swirl of what Harry could only describe as pure, raw, unadulterated power appeared in his mental landscape; it vacated his body with a sudden breeze. He opened his eyes and found his Uncle on the floor, not long after he had remembered the sounds of the man thundering down the stairs. He had left the room, terrified that his Uncle was going to be found unconscious by his Aunt and that he himself would be cast out on the streets of Surrey. And so the panicking boy bolted to his cupboard, not knowing what else to do aside from go to the one place he could find respite from the situation of this morning. He waited with bated breath from inside, scared to move and listening to his Aunt come around from her unconscious state upon the floor.

God. Oh god. Had he killed his Uncle Vernon? His Aunt was going to find his Uncle's corpse and then Harry would probably get sent to jail if not somewhere worse. He had to get out. He had to find a place to go, anywhere was better than here at the moment; he had to-

He moved from the confines of his cupboard, quietly settling to the side of it,breathing rapidly, Harry felt the panic beginning to set in. Glancing to his left – he froze.

A thick envelope lay alone on the doormat, which Harry considered to be odd, considering what day it was. It was a Sunday and Harry knew, through experience of his Uncle exclaiming the very phrase earlier in the week that post never came on a Sunday. He took note of the emerald green ink that glimmered under the light of the hallway.

 _Mr. H. Potter_.

~Elsewhere in Britain~

And so, he stirred. He watched as the depths of the mug and its contents were distorted from the intrusion that the spoon gave when it connected with the surface of the liquid. The tranquil motion gave his mind temporary respite from the borderline hazardous students he had to endure the company of earlier that day.

Severus Snape sat in the dimly lit sitting room of Spinner's End, the fire to his left crackling and spitting, casting a warming glow and a pleasant heat throughout the room. The man was sat leisurely in a slightly worn, comfortably padded, cushioned leather armchair. Today had been particularly gruelling, more so than any other day. The explanation for this lay in the fact that it was the last day of term - the students were ruffians on this day; barely civilised at the best of times, utterly chaotic as of late. Severus himself was thankful that all he had to do over the summer was to grade the Second Year's papers, though that in itself had proved to be an exasperating event as the majority of the twelve year old's calligraphy resembled nothing more than chicken scratch, with the occasional student who could-

A knock resounded through the near silent abode. He sighed, barely restraining himself from pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Severus could have sworn that he'd made an express point to Albus of emphasising his desire to be left alone for tonight. The old man should know that he needed at least a night to himself to recuperate once term had ended as the stress of the previous year had took its toll on everyone, especially him.

Severus got up from his exceptionally comfy armchair, grumbling somewhat quietly to himself about inconsiderate dunderheaded headmasters. He strode towards the door with long purposeful strides, interrupting the cacophony of sound that the largely unwelcome and, as of yet, unknown visitor was determined to play out upon the opposite side of the door. Pulling the door open swiftly he almost gaped in wonder as Minerva McGonagall stood there, looking mildly irritated.

"Severus! It is about time you opened the door for me - exactly what have you been doing for the past ten minutes? I need to speak to you about an urgent matter, the content of which Albus is oblivious to."

"Of course, Minerva, come in." Severus spoke softly, his countenance impassive save for a slight hint of curiosity hidden in the depths of his onyx iris'. Something that the Headmaster did not know of? This must be important. He swept past her, leading them into the sitting room that he had previously occupied.

As they settled with tea, she began to speak, "It has come to my attention that Albus is plotting something. And I believe he wishes to use Harry to aid in his schemes."

She withdrew her wand from amidst her robes.

" _Accio!"_

Minerva waited the short amount of time before the object in question drifted over to where Severus and herself stood in the dining room.

"I also believe that once I provide you with the necessary memories, Severus, you will have the same viewpoint that I do", she stated, placing her wand to her temple and grimacing as the silvery strands of the past were sluggishly extracted, before being placed, twisting around one another, into the Pensieve below.

"When you are ready, Severus." Minerva spoke calmly.

Severus himself stood a mere two feet away, intrigued as to what he would discover within the memories McGonagall had presented him with. He walked slowly forward, somewhat apprehensive as to what he would find within the depths of the pale blue liquid he was centimetres from.

He leant forward, and was consumed by time.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

When the memorial mist had finally settled into a solid scene, Severus found he could only focus upon one thing. The house that he was currently standing by the gate of, the house that held someone that was very dear to him, no longer existed. Severus rested his hand upon the carved wooden gate and stared at the house solemnly. Potter Cottage had never seemed so ominous.

Severus could feel it in the air, the tinge of unhealthy magic, seeming to hover over the house and surrounding area akin to that of a rotten scent, lingering unpleasantly within the sinus', unwanted yet instantly recognisable in the most loathsome way.

"Accio Daily Prophet." The newspaper that had been hastily stuffed into the mailbox a few feet away zoomed toward Severus, he glanced at the headlines, uninterested, scanning the front page for a specific piece of information.

There. The date. It was October 31st 1981.

This explained everything, no wonder the residence in front of him seemed to be stood in shadow, this was the night that the Dark Lord would arrive and murder James and Lily Potter.

Severus moved from the house, aware that the sun was quickly fading, the first fingers of twilight began to breach the remaining daylight, evening heat fading out rapidly. He used this to his advantage. Moving swiftly, he hid in a shadowy corner of Godric's Hollow, close enough so that he could still see how the historic event would play out, far enough to avoid detection when the Dark Lord arrived in a few minutes.

He waited, with admittedly baited breath, it was a tale as old as any, how Voldemort had murdered the Potter's and yet, Severus felt himself grow increasingly anxious with every passing minute. However, he was fairly certain that the Dark Lord didn't have long magenta robes with bright yellow stars on them. There was only one person who, as far as he was aware, that owned robes as garrish those.

Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster had never mentioned anything about visiting the Potter's except for after the wreckage had happened, to scout the area for survivors with members of the Order. Severus couldn't help but find it highly suspicious that the Headmaster had failed to mention that he had been in the Potter's residence. He quickly drew back, being lost in thought had cost him slightly as he didn't register the sound of the door to the Potter Cottage opening as Albus let himself in with a soft "Alohomora."

Severus followed, his movements soft, years of being a spy for the Dark Lord teaching him the utmost discretion when tailing someone and wanting to remain hidden from view.

Moving round to the rear of the house, he made sure to avoid detection from the Headmaster with a quickly muttered Disillusionment Charm. Now virtually undetectable, he deemed it safe to enter the premises. Before doing so he looked through the window of the house, seeing James Potter sat there on the sofa, looking down and smiling at a baby. Harry Potter. Severus' eyes narrowed in confusion, wondering where Lily was. The Dark Lord had killed both of them, why wasn't she there? Severus pondered, thoroughly confused.

Focusing on the view in front of him once again, he inhaled sharply at the sight now before him.

James was dead, and his son was in Dumbledore's arms. Severus watched as the Headmaster stepped over James' body as though it wasn't even there, and sent a patronus from his wand. He looked at the man on the floor, though he was once a school rival of his, James Potter deserved more than the fate he received at the hands of Albus Dumbledore. Throat slit with a sharp, precise Diffindo, he doubted James even knew Dumbledore was there until seconds before his death, and by then it was too late for the man.

As quickly as Albus had killed the man who lay before him, Severus watched as the Headmaster ascended the staircase, grim determination pushing him onwards. He knew what would come next, yet could not bring himself to follow. It were as though his feet had become rooted to the floor, grief and sorrow crushing him in place. James was gone, quicker than you could say "Quidditch" and that left only one.

Lily. Lily was next.

Severus had never been so angry, he felt a devastatingly destructive amount of rage at the man in front of him for deceiving him all these years, largely fuelled by the crushing betrayal that he had been lied to by a man in which he had placed a considerate amount of trust in the last decade, and, surprising himself, a fair amount of sorrow seeing his schoolmate dead before his eyes.

He didn't even know where to begin.

"James. You deserved better. For that chance being taken from you, I am sorry." He moved away solemnly, throat constricted. He heard a slight scream and a thump from upstairs, flinching despite it all, tears coming unbidden to his eyes, feeling a fool due to this being nought but recollection.

She was gone.

He started slightly, berating himself for forgetting his surroundings as another figure approached the building. Recognising him instantly, Severus withdrew into the shadows upon seeing The Dark Lord, before following him along the path, entering Potter Cottage. He followed The Dark Lord through the rooms, expecting him to be happy, elated at the fact that his biggest challenge had been abolished. Instead, he watched as Tom Riddle, usually darkly handsome, cool and collected, dropped to his knees, seemingly unable to stand any longer, his fists beating weakly against James' chest, sobs wracking his body.

"James, what has he done! How could he have done this, why did Dumbledore do this? What could he have possibly gained from killing you?! It isn't fair, I'm sorry, dear friend, I'm eternally sorry that I couldn't get here in time. I could have saved, should have saved you. I should have done something. He will pay for this, James Potter, that is my promise to you. Albus Dumbledore will pay for murdering you and Lily. Be it now or in the next two, three decades, I swear to y-"

"What a pretty speech, Tom. You always have had a flair for the dramatics. You're too predictable, I knew you'd follow me here, unable to help yourself. Pathetic, following me like a sheep, running in and whining about how I killed your 'friends'. Don't you remember, Tom? You have none. Since you were a little boy in the orphanage, named a freak, seen as nothing more than an outcast, nothing has changed, not really. You've just been set up, with people loathing you, tolerating you until they have no further use of your apparent skills." Dumbledore sneered, tucking his wand back into his sleeve. A 'strong' man, knelt on the floor before him, weeping over someone who wasn't even important. The man was the very embodiment of weak. Weak. Pathetic. Alone. All of these words fit Tom perfectly, in his eyes.

His blue eyes twinkled with a cruel edge to them as he looked down.

"I'm going to make your son into a weapon of the light. I'm going to create and mold him into an icon of the light. Wait and see, Tom, Nathaniel will be no son of yours, he will hate you, you will have nothing, and no one. Your son will not wish to be associated with you, your son will not want you. He will loathe you like a human has hated no other. I will make him believe that it was you that killed his parents, you that scarred him as a baby, you that gave him fame that he did not want. It will be all your fault."

Tom bared his teeth, eyes rimmed with unshed tears, red from irritation. Furiously, he stood, pointing his wand at the man before him.

"Put my son down, Dumbledore. You dare to touch him? Taint him with your murderous stench? You will not succeed in corrupting my son. Though you have succeeded tonight, in murdering two of the most loyal, kind and outright brilliant wizarding folks whom I had the honor and privilege of calling my closest friends, you will not take Nathaniel away from me." Tom was shaking with fury, completely hell bent on the destruction of the murderer before him. He felt his magic spark and crackle around him threateningly, and was sorely tempted to unleash it, yet refrained. Nathaniel could be harmed.

Severus was completely and utterly stunned. Speechless doesn't even come close. Did he mishear the two men? Harry Potter..

Harry Potter was...was Nathaniel Riddle? Tom had a son? Who was the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding World?

Severus felt a sharp jerk in some far off distance in his head, before realising that his time in the pensieve was coming to a close. The last thing he saw was Albus Dumbledore standing over one Tom Marvolo Riddle, wand raised, ready to strike.

Back in his meek, dark abode, he stared.

"Minerva...I-"

"You need not say anything Severus. You know some, but not enough. Rest, now, and we will return tomorrow to Godric's Hollow." She stood, and made to exit before turning swiftly. Speaking softly, she looked at him, through him, once again.

"I truly am sorry, Severus. I know you loved her."

He waited until he heard his front door click softly shut, before falling to his knees.

He sobbed.

Hey guys, holy shit. I am eternally sorry I have kept you guys on edge with my last chapter for so long. I wouldn't be surprised if you've all just left by now, haha. There's been a lot of complications since I uploaded the last chapter. I've moved house, got a dog, adjusted to living in a more chaotic household where I can't make my writing a priority, and on top of all that I've been dealing with some pretty personal mental health issues too. Nothing is ever easy, am I right? I hope you guys enjoy this as I really do so love this story with everything I have. If you think there are any improvements that can be made, just let me know in the comments! Until next time, which should be a lot sooner, may your wand tips shine bright. -DD.


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